


Anniversaries

by literally_no_idea



Category: Marvel 616, Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Alcohol, Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Alcoholic Tony Stark, Canonical Character Death, Don't copy to another site, Gen, Howard Stark's A+ Parenting, Howard Stark's Bad Parenting, Hurt Tony Stark, Implied/Referenced Abuse, Implied/Referenced Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, Implied/Referenced Domestic Violence, Mother's Day, Post-Captain America: Civil War (Movie), Tony Stark Feels, Tony Stark Needs a Hug, Tony Stark-centric
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-05-12
Updated: 2019-05-12
Packaged: 2020-03-02 08:29:57
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 3,865
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18807484
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/literally_no_idea/pseuds/literally_no_idea
Summary: A series of anniversaries, and what Tony does on each of them.





	1. Maria's Birthday, Mother's Day

**Author's Note:**

> Hi I'm sad and you're watching Disney Channel
> 
> Enjoy

Tony goes to his mom's grave on her birthday. He goes by himself, uses the old Plymouth Acclaim because he doesn't want to be bothered, not today, and most of his other cars are too flashy.

 

He's in a suit, but he couldn't resist wearing his Black Sabbath shirt instead of a dress shirt; as much as his mom insisted on formalities, she also had a love for the music Tony liked, even if she wouldn't admit it. Tony always saw the glint of humor in her eyes when he wore one of his band shirts under his suits.

 

Tony sits down beside his mom’s grave, store-bought flowers in hand, and begins to remove the rubber bands and plastic holding the flowers together, taking out the vase from the ground and setting the flowers inside, filling the vase with water and setting it back in place.

 

Tony sighs, running a hand through his hair, undoubtedly messing it up, but he can’t find it in himself to care, just as he can’t find it in himself to care that his suit is currently getting covered in grass and dirt stains.

 

“Hey Mom,” Tony starts, laughing a little at himself, how awkward this all is. “Uh, I know I come here three times a year, and it’s been decades now, but uh. It still doesn’t get any easier. I miss you, you know?”

 

Tony moves to rest his back against the side of her headstone. “So, do you remember how Jarvis used to make you cannolis every year for your birthday? And when I was six, he taught me how to make them so we could make them for you together? And how Dad got all pissed off because he thought it was a waste of my time?”

 

Tony laughs, a sharp, bitter sound. “Well, I still make them. Every year, on your birthday, I make cannolis, and no one can figure out how I managed it, because I suck at cooking anything else, and I’ve never really explained, I just make them and share them with everyone.”

 

Tony sighs, stares up at the sky like it will help stop him from crying. “Pepper loves them. I think you’d like her. I mean, I can’t be sure, I’ll never know, because you never got to meet her, but I think you’d be great friends. Both smart, beautiful women, no nonsense, always trying to reel in a Stark man who can’t recognize that there’s more to life than just what we build. Yeah, you two would get along just fine.”

 

Staring at the sky didn’t help, and Tony can feel the tears rolling down his face, looking around to make sure no one can see him, because wouldn’t that make a good headline, “Tony Stark Cries Over Dead Mom Still, Is He Fit To Be Iron Man?” Tony can’t risk that, no matter how personal and important this is to him.

 

Tony straightens up, clears his throat and wipes away his tears with his sleeve. “Anyway, uh. I hope you’re having a good day, wherever you are. I don’t even know if there is any afterlife, or a heaven, or whatever, but I just. Hope you’re doing well. Yeah. Okay.”

 

Tony stands up, rests his hand on the headstone. “Okay. Well, uh. I should probably go. I still have meetings, because apparently SHIELD waits for no one, not even a Stark. Dad would be so offended by their efficiency now. Anyway, I love you Mom. Happy birthday.”

 

* * *

 

Tony goes back to his mom’s grave on Mother’s Day, brings flowers again, in a new suit and wearing his Iron Maiden shirt.

 

“Hey Mom,” Tony says as he sits down, putting the flowers in the vase. “I’m back, again. I wish I could come by more often, but superheroeing apparently doesn’t have as many free days as I’d like.”

 

Tony lays down beside the grave on his back, head resting on his arms. “Actually, that’s a lie, I don’t really want to come by more often. No offense. It’s just… it hurts so much to be here, I remember things I wish I didn’t, and I just miss you so damn much, and I wish you were still here.”

 

Tony lays there silently for a few minutes. “Do you remember the necklace I gave you one year, for Mother’s Day? The one with the pendant that connected to my watch, so we could talk? Well, uh, I ended up giving it to Pepper, I hope you don’t mind. But it just… I wanted it to go to someone else who I loved, and Pepper, well… she’s been so good to me, I thought you would be okay with that, with someone else looking after me.”

 

Tony turns his head to look at the headstone, sighing. “Well, I have a secret about that pendant. It also had a GPS, because I… I wanted to make sure I knew where you were, if anything went wrong, in case Dad went too far, got a little too drunk when I wasn’t there to help or draw his attention away, and because I just… I missed you, when I was at MIT.”

 

Tony lets out a shaky breath. “And turns out, that GPS came in handy, because when I held the Stark Expo, and Vanko blew up all the drones? It was the GPS in that pendant that helped me get Pepper to safety. Guess my paranoia and anxiety was worth something, huh?”

 

Tony laughs, and it comes out sounding more like a sob. “Yeah. Anyway, I think I need to go, can never stick around for too long, there’s always someone with a camera looking for a good story.”

 

Tony stands, brushing off the back of his suit the best he can. He puts a hand on the headstone, leans down so his forehead is resting against the marble. “Love you, Mom.” Tony leaves, gets back into his car and drives home, ignores the tightness in his chest that has nothing to do with the reactor.


	2. December 16th, 2015 / December 16th, 2016

Tony’s been coming to their graves every year since 1991, and 2015 is no different. Tony sits down between their headstones, in a three-piece, two-button suit, a steel grey that makes Tony think of his father, and a bottle of whiskey that also makes Tony think of him. He’s also carrying a bouquet of flowers, which he puts in the flower vase for his mom’s grave.

 

“You know, it’s been twenty four years, and I still fucking hate you for what happened,” Tony says dryly to his father’s headstone, unscrewing the lid on the whiskey and drinking it straight from the bottle.

 

“I took the day off, told Fury to go fuck himself, figured SHIELD could manage a single day without me around to fix their shitty tech. Which is almost entirely the same tech you gave them, by the way. Your tech is as useless as you were, I hope you know that.”

 

Tony chugs an eighth of the bottle before he keeps talking, feels the burn of the whiskey down his throat. “And you’re the reason Mom’s dead, and I can never fucking forgive you for that, I hope you know that. If you didn’t insist on drinking so goddamn much, you never would have crashed that fucking car. I know the news said you didn’t have alcohol in your system, but I also know they said you were a great father, so it’s hard to trust anything they say. Gotta keep a good image, right, Howard?”

 

Tony laughs bitterly, pulls out the flower vase for his father’s grave, pours some whiskey in it. “There, now you don’t feel left out. Better?” Tony turns to his mom’s grave, can’t hold back the sob in his throat, drinks some more whiskey to try and drown out the pain.

 

“I miss you so much, Mom. You meant the world to me, you were so much more than just the… the parties, and the galas, and the bullshit, you were so much more but we never really got a chance to talk, to be anything more, because Dad had a fucking image to build, and everything had to be the way he wanted, right? And that got you killed.”

 

Tony drinks more, doesn’t know what to say, what to think or feel at this point, can’t decide whether his anger or his sadness wins out right now. “Anyway, I hope you’re doing well, wherever you are, Mom, and I hope you’re far, far away from the piece of shit who sent you there in the first place. Dad… well, I hope you’re fucking miserable, because if you’re doing better than I am, I’ll admit it, I’m going to take it personally.”

 

Tony drains the bottle of whiskey, screws the lid back on and stands. “Well, great talk, that only took…” Tony checks his watch. “10 minutes, for me to finish off that whole bottle. With your help, of course, Dad. Looks like I did end up being a lot like you.” Tony leaves, dumps the whiskey bottle in the trash, and goes home, pretends like nothing happened.

 

* * *

 

On December 16th, 2016, after Zemo and Sokovia, Tony goes back to his parents’ graves, sits down with a plastic grocery bag full of booze, and puts the flowers he brought in his mom’s flower vase, and sits facing the headstones, opening the whiskey bottle.

 

“So, I almost forgot what day it was, too busy trying to make better leg braces for Rhodey. But here I am. And turns out the crash wasn’t your fault. Wasn’t even a crash, really, it was a murder, but hey, who’s keeping track?” Tony pours half the whiskey into his father’s flower vase.

 

“Here, you’ve earned that, I think, for listening to me shit on you every year for something that wasn’t your fault.”

 

Tony laughs. “Of course, there’s still a lot of things that were actually your fault. Abusing me and Mom? That’s still on you. Making me think that all I’m worth is sex, money, alcohol, drugs, and my inventions? Also on you. The self hatred I feel all the goddamn time? Also on you. Honestly, just fuck you, Dad. I can’t be mad at you for this, but I’m mad at you for a lot of other things.”

 

Tony chugs the rest of the whiskey, tosses the empty bottle on the ground beside him, pulls the bottle of vodka out of the bag, opens it and starts drinking. “You know, actually, I fucking hate that Barnes killed you both, because I can’t even blame you for this, Dad, I can’t even get that little bit of resolution, that at least your own fucking bullshit killed you. Though I do have to say, at least he got you out of my life, I can’t be mad at him for that.”

 

Tony turns to his mom’s headstone now, gulping down mouthfuls of vodka. “I’m sorry, Mom, I know you’d hate to see me drinking, but I can’t do this. How the fuck am I supposed to handle this? No matter how many times Dad told me ‘Stark men are made of iron,’ it’s still not true, I’m fucking weak, I’m not made of iron because I’m a Stark, and I’m not made of iron because I’m fucking Iron Man, I’m just… I’m a dumb fucking kid in a metal suit who’s just trying his best.”

 

Tony sighs, finishes off the vodka, and opens the bourbon. “And you know what? I also keep wondering if Stane would have tried to kill me if Dad was still alive. I keep wondering if Dad would have mellowed out after the crash if he hadn’t died. I keep wondering. But I’ll never fucking know, will I? You know, I wish you had survived. Just you. Maybe we could have been happy without Dad around, you know?”

 

Tony chugs the bourbon, takes a deep breath when he’s done, relishes in the burn of the alcohol in his system. “Anyway. I should probably go. I’ll be back again, you already know that. I’ll see you.”

 

Tony gathers the empty bottles, puts them back in the bag, stands, and throws the bottles away on his way to the car. He checks his blood alcohol levels once he’s in the driver’s seat, and swears under his breath. That’s way too high for him to drive. Shit.

 

As much as Tony hates the idea, he calls Happy. He’d prefer to call Rhodey, but Rhodey still shouldn’t really be driving, and Happy’s seen him drunk plenty of times, this won’t be any different. Happy picks up on the fourth ring.

 

“Tony? What’s wrong? Are you at the cemetery?”

 

“Yeah, I am,” Tony says, words slurring a little. “Can’t drive.”

 

“Need me to come pick you up?”

 

Tony nods, then realizes he’s on a phone call. “Yeah, yeah I do. Thanks, Happy,” Tony says, and he hears a sigh on the other end of the line.

 

“Be there in 25. Don’t do anything stupid, I’m on my way.” The line goes dead, and, true to Happy’s word, he’s there 25 minutes later exactly, apparently having taken an Uber.

 

Happy opens the car door, holds out a hand. “Alright, come on, backseat with you,” Happy says, and Tony frowns.

 

“Why can’t I be in the passenger seat?” he slurs, and Happy rolls his eyes as he puts Tony in the back.

 

“Because you’re not going to accidentally throw up on me or the front window, that’s not happening. Now sit down and shut up, you’re lucky I’m here in the first place.”

 

“Mmm, I’m lucky, and you’re Happy,” Tony says, giggling at his own joke, and Happy sighs.

 

“Yeah, that’s right, I’m Happy, and you’re annoying. Now let’s go.”

 

Once they’re on the road, Happy looks at Tony in the rear view mirror, frowning. “Seriously though, are you okay?”

 

Tony shrugs. “‘M fine, been worse. Just need to sleep it off.”

 

Happy nods slowly. “Yeah, okay boss. Let’s get you home.”

 

Tony falls asleep on the drive, and Happy carries him to bed, dropping Tony on the bed with a sigh. Happy tucks him under the covers and leaves, shutting the bedroom door behind him.


	3. Howard's Birthday, Father's Day

Tony doesn’t go to the cemetery on Howard’s birthday. The date registers with him only because people talk about it a lot, the public tends to mourn his death every year, and Tony sees it all happen around him, has to try and hold himself together so he doesn’t start crying or screaming at people about it.

 

This year, Tony locks himself in his workshop, tries to work on some new inventions, but no matter how hard he tries, he can’t get his brain to focus. After two hours he gives up trying and heads to the kitchen in the compound for some alcohol, and he’s just gotten himself a glass of whiskey when Bucky comes into the room, freezing when he sees Tony.

 

“Sorry, I’ll go,” Bucky starts, and Tony holds up a hand.

 

“No, you’re fine, I was just headed out. It’s no big deal.” Tony grabs the whiskey bottle, because fuck it, he might as well take all of it, and leaves, heads back to his workshop. He comes back to the kitchen for more drinks a few more times during the time, each time with the kitchen blessedly empty, and then goes back to his workshop to see if he can focus.

 

He can’t focus though, no matter how hard he tries or how much he drinks, and by 5pm he’s stumbling when he walks towards the kitchen for more alcohol, which is how he literally runs into Bucky, Bucky reaching out to grab him before he falls.

 

“Whoa, hey Stark, are you alright?” Bucky asks, and Tony laughs.

 

“Do you really need to ask? It takes a lot of alcohol to get me all clumsy and shit, so what do you think?” Tony’s words are slurring, he knows it, but he doesn’t care. “I’m just getting more, and I’ll be out of here again.”

 

Bucky hesitates, like he’s not sure he’s allowed to say anything, but he shakes his head. “Stark, I can’t let you do that.”

 

“Or what? You’ll kill me like you killed my mom?” Tony asks, and Bucky flinches. Tony sighs.

 

“Shit, okay, that was mean. I just. Why won’t you let me drink. Please. I don’t want to think today. Not today,” Tony pleads, and Bucky sighs.

 

“Yeah. Sorry. I used to stop Steve from doing stupid things all the time as a kid. It’s a force of habit by now.” Bucky pauses. “Come to the gym with me.”

 

Tony frowns. “Why?”

 

“Because I get the feeling that you don’t train with Steve, and I’m willing to bet I can teach you some things that Natasha and Clint can’t. So come train with me. It’ll give you something to do, hell, I’ll even let you knock me down a few times, if it makes you feel better.”

 

Tony laughs. “Fine. Why not. I’m not getting anything done anyway. Let’s do it.”

 

They spar; Bucky teaches Tony how to fight hard and dirty, because Tony’s already learned the more graceful movements from Natasha and Clint. Where Natasha and Clint’s fighting styles are more fluid, better suited to someone smaller and faster, Bucky’s is compact and jolting, better suited to someone larger and heavier.

 

Tony’s moves are a mess, he’s too drunk for it to be anything but sloppy, but Bucky encourages him the whole way, catches him before he falls and barely taps Tony with his own hits. They’re maybe 10 minutes in when Bucky catches Tony from falling again, and Tony huffs.

 

“Can we sit down? Let’s just. Sit?” Bucky lowers Tony to the ground, then scoots back to give Tony space. Tony looks over at him, evaluating. “Why are you doing this?”

 

“I already told you, to help you fight.”

 

Tony shakes his head. “Bullshit. Why are you actually doing this? Today, of all fucking days.”

 

Bucky sighs. “Because I still feel guilty. And I know, that’s selfish, but I know how much I hurt you. I know what I did. And I know I was brainwashed, at the time, but it doesn’t change what happened. I figured you would have a bad time, today. Wanted to help, even if it just meant giving you a place to put all that anger.”

 

Tony laughs, and if it’s a little bitter, Bucky doesn’t mention it. “Don’t worry about the anger thing. You’re not who I hate. Listen, I’m glad the bastard’s dead. Really. I just hate hearing people talk about him like he was some sort of god. He wasn’t. He was an abusive asshole. So it’s not you. Just. Yeah.” Tony snorts, hands fidgeting in his lap. “Look, I’m drunk, don’t listen to me.”

 

Bucky watches Tony for a moment. “I think it’s about time someone listened to you,” he says finally, and Tony frowns at him, but Bucky just stands, holds his hand out. “Come on, you should go get some sleep, if you can.”

 

Tony takes his hand, getting to his feet. “Yeah, I guess. See you later, Barnes.”

 

“You too, Stark.”

 

* * *

 

Father’s day isn’t any easier for Tony. If anything, maybe it’s worse, because it’s days of lead up about “get the right gift for dad!” and everything, and because it’s all dads, Tony actually has to pay attention to the holiday, get things for people.

 

He sends a gift to Scott Lang, gives another to Clint, and then he hides in his room, tries to make the whole thing go away, because he really, really doesn’t want to think about it. He gets a knock on his door, and he seriously considers pretending to ignore it, but then he hears a “I know you’re awake,” and he groans, gets to his feet and opens the door.

 

“Did the serum give you psychic abilities? X-ray vision? Or are you just fucking with me?” he asks, and Bucky shakes his head.

 

“None of the above. Enhanced hearing, means I can hear the change in people’s breathing. Weird, I know, but I haven’t found an off switch for it yet.”

 

Tony shrugs. “I could figure it out, if you gave me a couple of days. Does it enhance your other senses? I could fix that, too. I figured some stuff out for the kid, I could probably modify it for you.”

 

Bucky’s head tilts to the side, confused. “I… yeah, that’d be nice. Thank you.” Bucky shakes himself. “That’s not why I’m here, though. Come on, come drink with me and watch Animal Planet.”

 

Tony frowns. “What? Can you even get drunk?”

 

Bucky shrugs. “Yeah, give or take. I need a lot, but I recently discovered 190 proof vodka, and it seems like that works, as long as I keep drinking it. So what do you say, are you gonna come watch episodes of ‘Too Cute’ with me, or not?”

 

Tony snorts. “Sure, what the fuck. What do I have to lose?”

 

They sit on the couch in the living room and watch cute animals while they drink, Bucky downing shots of vodka and Tony slowly drinking his way through a bottle of whiskey, and by the third or fourth hour they’re both way past tipsy into drunk, and they’re telling stupid stories, the tv mostly forgotten except for the occasional pause of “wait, look! that’s a siamese cat” “ooooooh… kitty…”

 

Tony snorts. “Are you telling me, that you and Mr. Apple Pie fuckin’ used to fight in back alleys?”

 

“No no no, Steve used to get his ass kicked in back alleys, I used to beat the person up,” Bucky corrects, and Tony bursts out laughing.

 

“Amazing. Fuckin’ amazing.”

 

Bucky nods. “What about you? What were your punk years like?”

 

Tony shakes his head. “Not that fun. I used to get my ass kicked on campus at MIT, and then I met Rhodey, and he would beat them up,” Tony says, and Bucky frowns.

 

“What, you didn’t invent something and fuck ‘em up?”

 

“Nah, couldn’t, gotta protect ‘the Stark legacy,’” Tony says, rolling his eyes. “Fuckin’ typical.”

 

Bucky’s about to respond when Steve walks in, frowning with his “Captain America’s disappointed in you” face.

 

“Buck, what are you doing? Are you and Tony drunk?” Steve asks, and Bucky flips him off.

 

“Fuck off, Stevie, we’re bonding here,” he says, and Tony laughs, flipping Steve off too.

 

“Yeah, fuck off, you giant Golden Retriever,” Tony says, and Bucky doubles over laughing, grabbing Tony’s shoulder.

 

“Yes! He totally is!”

 

Steve rolls his eyes, but leaves, and Bucky sprawls across the couch, Tony flopping on top of him.

 

“So, why’d you come ask me to do this?” Tony asks, and Bucky shrugs.

 

“Least I could do. You’ve had a rough time. After what you said on your dad’s birthday, figured you might want a distraction on Father’s Day.”

 

Tony snorts. “You’re not wrong. Thanks, man. You’re not half bad, Robocop.”

 

“You neither, tiny.”

 

“Oh fuck off, you’re only giant ‘cause of the serum.”

 

“And you’re tiny ‘cause of genetics, so whatever.”

 

“Asshole.”

**Author's Note:**

> Feel free to yell at me on either my main marvel blog [ mbarku](https://mbarku.tumblr.com/) or my Howard Stark hate blog [ fuck-howard-stark](https://fuck-howard-stark.tumblr.com/)
> 
> Thanks for reading!


End file.
